


The Wrong Trousers

by TheBestAtNotVeryNice



Category: Musical Theatre - Fandom, Wolverine (Comics), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Age of Ultron (Comics), Alternate Universe, Gen, I'm Sorry, The Trousers of Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBestAtNotVeryNice/pseuds/TheBestAtNotVeryNice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Messing with the 'fabric' of time is a dangerous thing.  </p><p>(pun totally intended and I'm not sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Trousers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Colms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colms/gifts).



It wasn't the first time he'd gone behind Steve's back on a mission, and it wouldn't likely be the last, but Logan thought guilt was not a particularly useful emotion at the end of the world. The Captain wasn't thinking so clearly, and everyone else was still so invested in being a hero. What's the point of a hero if there's no one left to save? Sometimes not very nice gets the job done. Fury knew that, and Logan was pretty sure the Commander knew what he was going to do the minute the big damn heroes were gone. He was going to kill Hank Pym.

He wasn't exactly sure how the time platform worked, or how he was going to get back if he succeeded. After all, he'd heard that theory that every decision, every change in the world spawned new parallel realities in which every possibility was played out. He'd once heard Stark, Nat and the rest of 'the bookclub' argue it out over a drink, but he hadn't been so interested in the hypotheticals. And now here he was, standing on Doom's time platform, about to head back in time to put an end to Ultron's madness, by putting an end to Hank Pym. Closing his eyes, fully expecting to open them in the past, Logan felt momentarily dizzy and staggered slightly. He heard a gasp, from hundreds of voices at once, and opened his eyes. 

Doom's platform transported you in time, not in space. And yet, Logan was no longer in a cave. He was certainly not in the Savage Lands. The bright lights illuminating the stage obscured his view of the gasping audience but when he looked down, they illuminated his own legs all too well. Gold lamé? Sparkling pants? And, what was this, leopard print? Even as his mind was struggling with his sartorial distress, his body seemed to know what it was doing. And it was dancing. A shimmy, a hip thrust... the dizziness washed over him again. Logan closed his eyes, and as suddenly as the music and lights had appeared, all was suddenly silent again. A mere second or two of time had actually past. He opened one eye cautiously. The cave seemed cave-like, and empty. No redundant superheroes failing to save the world. He sniffed fully; behind a lingering hint of hot dust and make up, the overwhelming tang on the air was good old-fashioned body odor. His own, and Susan Richards. He didn't know when the hell he was, but at least he knew where. And what he was wearing.

The flying car was fast, but it was still a long way to New York from Antarctica. For the most part they sat in silence. They both knew what they were travelling towards, and an execution does nothing for anyone's bonhomie. As they passed over Times Square, Logan found he had the urge to hum. A bleak, repetitive little tune escaped his lips. Dum-duh, dum-duh, dum-do-do-do-do-duh.

"Do you mind?" Sue was glaring at him from the passenger seat. "I don't think that's very funny."

Logan wasn't about to admit he had no idea what he was humming.

"A little gallows humour?" He offered.

"For god's sake! The prisoners get the gallows humour, not the executioner - Javert!" 

Logan shook his head slightly, as though he could physically dislodge the insistent little tune. He had a job to do, an unpleasant job, and a bumpy ride home. Whatever, and whenever, home might be. He really didn't need the distraction of a brain stuffed full of ... well, show tunes. This must be some kind of side effect from the damn time machine, he thought. Maybe the background radiation from Ultron's nuclear blasts had... Hell, how the hell was he supposed to know? He'd have to ask Stark when they got back. He might leave out the part about the leopard print.

 

Thousands of miles away, and three realities over, a tall Australian came out of a stage door onto a New York street, and hailed a taxi. Ducking into the back of the cab, he banged his head against the door arch. 

"You ok?" the driver called back.

"Uh, yeah." The actor shook his head slightly. "Weirdest thing, the last two days, I keep thinking I'm about a foot shorter than I really am."


End file.
